Eno. Neuer he will not:
Age cannot wither her, nor custome stale
Her infinite variety: other women cloy
The appetites they feede, but she makes hungry,
Where most she satisfies. For vildest things
Become themselues in her, that the holy Priests
Blesse her, when she is Riggish

Mece. If Beauty, Wisedome, Modesty, can settle
The heart of Anthony: Octauia is
A blessed Lottery to him

Agrip. Let vs go. Good Enobarbus, make your selfe
my guest, whilst you abide heere

Eno. Humbly Sir I thanke you.

Exeunt.

Enter Anthony, Caesar, Octauia betweene them.

Anth. The world, and my great office, will
Sometimes deuide me from your bosome

Octa. All which time, before the Gods my knee shall
bowe my prayers to them for you

Anth. Goodnight Sir. My Octauia
Read not my blemishes in the worlds report: